rain, storm, downpour
by KannaOphelia2019
Summary: "Thankss, angel." Now Crowley was hissing. Just perfect. Cuddling under a white umbrella with cutesy ducks on it, tripping over himself, clinging to an angel, thanking him, and hissing. It was a good thing he had broken with Hell, because he couldn't face the ridicule.


Rain

The problem with living in London was that even in Spring it rained too bloody much. And the kind of human Crowley tried to be was not the kind who carried a sodding umbrella around just in case, thank you very much.

By the time he thought of magically producing one, that is, two seconds after the skies opened, he was already drenched to the skin, and surrounded by humans who might see. He sighed, looking for a place to duck away and produce a quick black brolly, when the rain suddenly stopped falling on him.

For a moment he wondered if he had accidentally arranged for the rain not to fall on him, which tended to be a bit of a giveaway, and then he felt a soft, radiant presence beside him.

"Your umbrella," Crowley said coldly, "has _ducks_ on it. With tartan bow ties. Do you have any respect for my dignity?" He reached up to share a grip on the umbrella handle anyway. His hand brushed skin that somehow send a warming glow right down his cold arm.

"None whatsoever. And they're charming."

Crowley snapped his fingers and was dry, but not warm, except where his hand was against Aziraphale's own. He shivered.

"Cold blooded serpent," Aziraphale said fondly. The angel exchanged hands on the umbrella handle, holding it from his right, outside hand. Crowley wondered why, and then he felt a solid, heavy arm around his back, drawing him in close by Aziraphale's side. "Here. Body heat should help."

Crowley could feel his mind break a bit. Heat. Body heat. Yes, it was warm. And also soft. And… cuddly. What was the angel cuddling him? He never cuddled him. Could he embrace back? He'd have to exchange his own hands first. Embarrassing. But. Close. Arm around him. Why? So nice. But, why?

He could hear Aziraphale chuckling softly in his ear, and decided to pull himself together. Right. Let go of umbrella. Put arm around waist, very casually. Cool. Right. No big deal.

Even through the overcoat, Aziraphale felt warm and solid and comforting, and Crowley forgot to do with his feet and tripped. His arm tightened around Aziraphale's waist, and the arm around his back steadied him.

"Thankss, angel." Now he was hissing. Just perfect. Cuddling under a white umbrella with cutesy ducks on it, tripping over himself, clinging to an angel, thanking him, and hissing. It was a good thing he had broken with Hell, because he couldn't face the ridicule.

"You are very welcome, my dear."

A plump young woman with a rainbow undercut and a leather jacket gave them a quick smile as she passed, the kind of smile that Crowley had seen young queer folk give them before, _that's such a sweet old couple, look at them, hope I find someone like that one day._ It always gave him a quick stab of pleasure, that they were acknowledged in some way, even if it was just a fantasy and Aziraphale was always oblivious to it himself.

"Have you ever thought about it?" Aziraphale was looking after the girl, thoughtfully.

"Thought about _what_?"

"What the humans assume." Crowley stared. Aziraphale was still not looking at him, but the lips of his ears were pink.

He had to be sure. "What," Crowley asked very carefully, "do they think?"

"That we're lovers," Aziraphale clarified and then, in case even that wasn't clear enough, "that we're romantically and sexually involved."

Crowley's blood was pounding in his ears. "Have I ever thought about it?"

"Well, it's a human pleasure, and one I've never experienced, although I'm sure you have. There doesn't seem to be any reason not to _try_ now, that's all. Have you ever thought about it? I mean," and no just his ears were pink now, "with me."

"_Have… I… ever… thought… about it?_" Crowley was having difficulty keeping his tongue in a human enough shape to talk. "In the last six thousand years, you mean? You… you… could you _be_ any more bloody insulting?"

He pushed away and stormed off into the crowd, not bothering to look back. Maybe Aziraphale was standing looking forlorn and alone and confused and reflecting on what a heartless prat he was.

He hoped so.

* * *

Storm

He spent the next few days causing chaos as if he'd never been chucked off the payroll. He was a _demon_, after all, the original Serpent, and eventually Hell were going to realise what a precious resource they had and crawl back to him begging for forgiveness, and then he would—he didn't know. Probably reject them. That wasn't the point.

Storms, burst drains, network outages, public transport strikes, the latest episodes of reality tv shows being mysteriously wiped just as they were about to go to air, the entire cast of the _Archers_ coming down with laryngitis, the entire South Kensington museum area developing the smell of sulphur and brimstone, which was conveniently similar to rotten eggs. He hadn't worked so hard in decades. Centuries.

Crowley was prepared to ignore pleading or apologetic calls to his answering machine and voice mail, but there weren't any. However, brides and grooms found that storms magically cleared above them on their wedding days, the city bankers had sudden changes of heart and made major donations to the poor while raising their employees' salaries, and despite the constantly rain and lightning, the daffodils and tulips had never bloomed so beautifully or resiliently in living memory.

Right. If that was the way it was to be, then, this was _war_. He… he was going to do something about those bloody _ducks._ He wasn't sure what. Turn them pink and give them fangs, probably.

**Downpour**

He climbed in the Bentley, his precious Bentley, the only thing in the world that truly loved him and never let him down.

He screeched down to St James Park, pulled over, and pulled the break on just as he noticed the angel sitting quietly on the passenger seat.

"Isn't that a frivolous use of a miracle?" he snarled. "And not very angelic, either, breaking into a car."

"No one is counting now, I think." Aziraphale fidgeted, his beautiful fingers twisting around each other. "I didn't trust you to answer your phones."

"I wouldn't."

"Precisely."

Aziraphale glanced at him quickly, took in the frown, and dropped his gaze back to his twisting hands. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"You did a bloody good job, anyway."

Aziraphale sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. Can we just forget it?" There were miserable tears on the edge of those golden lashes, and Crowley steeled his heart against them. "I can just find someone else, if I really want—"

"_Who?_"

Aziraphale blinked. "What do you mean?"

"_Who do you have in mind, angel_?"

"Well, no one in particular. I was just—"

"Six thousand years. Six thousand years, I've been in love with you, and too terrified to show you any signs of infernal lust in case I chased you away. _I can just find someone else._" Crowley bashed his head against the steering wheel. "_No one in particular._ Oh, good, glad you had a convenient demon around for an easy first option, better than risking corrupting a human. _Have I ever thought about it?_ Oh, angel, I hate you."

There was a long silence, and then suddenly Aziraphale laughed. It was his sweetest, lightest chuckle, and Crowley sat up and glared at him.

"So that's it. I could feel you _cared_, but—_in_ love? Really?"

"Don't laugh at me. Yes, in love. Romantically and sexually, as you so clinically put it."

"I'm sorry. I really am."

"I know. It's not your fault." The anger suddenly drained out of him, and he just felt tired and hurting. "And I don't hate you."

"Good. Because I love you."

"I know. I shouldn't take it out on you. You can't help being an angel. You just took me by surprise, that's all."

"Crowley, my dearest. _Listen._ I'm in love with you."

He whipped his head around, snake-like, looking for a mistake, for the following "I am in love with all of God's creations, even you, and you are my dearest friend," but Aziraphale was blushing and trying very hard to look straight at him without looking away and how much courage did that take, for an angel that always glanced away from temptation, and that expression in his eyes, he had seen it before and it was for him and probably he should move or say something but wait, in love, he was in love and Crowley had just confessed too, hadn't he, and Aziraphale had said...

Aziraphale sighed again, as if waiting for the noise in Crowley's head to quieten down a bit was just too much for him, picked up one of his hands, and kissed it. Slowly, lingeringly. The back of his hand, each knuckle, one by one, fingertips, turning it over to kiss his palm and his wrist.

Crowley's voice came back, hoarse and hissy, but there. "Romantically and ssexually."

"Yes, my dear. Or else I hardly would have proposed—"

Crowley grabbed his head and mashed their mouths together. It was awkward at first, all lips and teeth, but they pulled back a bit and lips parted more gently and tongues touched and it didn't matter if it was awkward at all, it was _everything_, the mouth against his and the soft wide chest pressed against his narrow one and the arms around him.

"I love you."

"Yes, dear." Aziraphale kissed him again.

"You love me."

"_Yes_, dear."

It was a good thing the Bentley didn't have seatbelts or bucket seats, or the angel certainly would have had a seatbelt on and it would be hard to clamber half onto Aziraphale's lap to kiss him again from a more comfortable angle.

"Really, beloved, we're in public." _Beloved._

"The windows are all fogged up from the heater." He trailed little kisses down a silky lovely neck, and Aziraphale made a _noise._

"But the humans..."

The skies opened to a sudden downpour of rain. "Have better things to do than peer into parked cars like perverts. Oh, _Aziraphale._"

The angel's hands were so warm, so soft and now cradling the side of his face. "Let's go home."

"Which home?"

"Well." Aziraphale kissed his nose. "You're the one with the bed, dear boy."

"Right," Crowley said happily, and Aziraphale's hand was on his thigh, warm and possessive, all the way back to the flat.


End file.
